


Dark Horse

by PenneName



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Demon Dean Winchester, Hurt Castiel, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Protective Sam Winchester, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:33:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenneName/pseuds/PenneName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the kink meme. Demon Dean tortures Cas. Sam rescues him, and although Cas forgives Dean fully, Sam's relationship with Dean is shaken. Sam and Dean agree that some time away from each other would be best, while Sam takes care of Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Written for the kink meme. Warnings: torture, implied non-con

AN: Written for the kink meme. Warnings: torture, implied non-con

Cas lost count after twenty-one days.

Of course, even the twenty-one day count was inaccurate, a blur of pain-addled thoughts and guesswork. It could have been twenty-one months, maybe, or a week. Cas hoped it wasn't a week. Becoming human weakened Cas, made him ill and exhausted even without torture to accompany it. But even struggling with Falling, Cas hoped he wouldn't be so broken after only a week of torture.

He could ask his torturer, but he wasn't sure Dean was keeping count, either.

"I think this is the most time we ever spent together. You were always running off, abandoning me and Sam when we needed you to put your useless ass in gear and help us."

"Pushed me away a couple of times, you know" Castiel rasped, raising his swollen eyes to Dean. He expected the smash of the angel blade against his head, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"You were always so defiant. That's why no one loved you. your dickbag family, your daddy, me, Sam," Dean punctuated his list with more swings of the angel blade. "You let me die, Cas."

The angel sword clattered to the floor. Dean knelt in front of him, put his hand on his chin, and tilted his face up. Cas almost craved for the touch. Almost loved it. At times like this, it was hard to forget it wasn't really Dean. Couldn't be Dean. Then again, Castiel loved and craved any touch that didn't harm him.

"You let me die. Sam and I trusted you. We treated you like you were family. And every time, you let us down. You let me die."

When physical torture failed to move Cas, Dean reminded him of us failure. This-more than the angel sword and whips and thumbscrews and anything else Dean's imagination could conjure-hurt Cas the most. But Cas heard that taunt too many times. He lived with it. He breathed it, thought about nothing else. For this moment, he was immune to it.

"You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself."

The last thing Cas knew was the hilt of the angel blade against his face, again.

Cas's eyes fluttered opened. His constant blackouts were one of the reasons he had hard keeping track of time. On a normal sleep cycle, he could count the number of times he went to sleep. But between the blood loss and the beatings, Cas had no reliable way of knowing how much time had past.

Not much time, he figured, since Dean was still standing in front of him, eyeing him like a predator."So cute when you're sleeping," Dean said. "So vulnerable. Your skin used to be pure white. Unblemished."

Dean ran his fingers down Cas's chest. After Jimmy left the vessel, some time after Raphael destroyed it, Cas took a long time to get used to the fact that the body was his and his alone. After becoming human, it took Cas a while to realize that this body was him and he was this body. Now, he was struggling with these new additions to his flesh. The bruises around his torso and long lashes on his back. Deep cuts on his limbs. Dean had violated the body in other ways Cas didn't want to think about, not because of the physical pain or unpleasantness of the memory, but because Cas didn't want to think of Dean doing those things. Or, Cas reminded himself, not Dean. Something taking over Dean's body, making the violation both Cas and Dean.

"I like you better this way. You could always do to be taken down a few pegs. How many times you've fallen from grace, and you still don't learn. Remember when you were God? Couldn't even do that right."

After all this time, Cas still wasn't over that. It wasn't the loss of power that stung Cas the most. It was the memory of the cold loneliness of Sam and Dean finding out. It was the fact that he betrayed his family, his Winchesters. He thought they would never forgive him, and he would deserve that. It took so long for Dean to forgive him. Everyone turned their back on Cas.

Everyone except Sam.

"Sam..." Cas's thought wheezed out from his cracked lips.

"Sam? You think Sam is going to rescue you? Sam doesn't care about you. You're worthless right now. Worse than worthless. You're pathetic. You're a burden. No one wants you when you're like this. At least when you're mojo'd up, you can help out a little bit when you're not fucking things up. But this? You're useless. Good for maybe one thing."

Dean chuckled and ran the blade down Castiel's body, from cheek down to his chest, and down more. Cas's head lolled limply down, but through half-slitted eyes, he could see a tall figure in the door way. A hallucination, probably.

"Sam..."

"Listen to me carefully. Sam. Is not. Coming. For-"

There was a clang, and then Dean fell in a heap at Cas's feet. Sam looked to be nothing more than a blur of fury. He dragged Dean half way across the room and then threw him the rest of the way.

Then began the beat-down. Cas kept drifting in and out, but he caught Sam landing a few well-placed kicks on Dean. But only a few. Whether he was doing it for catharsis or for subduing Dean, Sam did not lose himself to violence. He rushed over to Cas, cradling his head in his hands.

"Hey. Hey. I'm gonna get you down, OK?"

Sam's eyes were glistening with love or hope or, more likely, regret. After all, he had just dragged his brother across the room and beat him. His hands lingered on Cas's cheeks, though, as if he were hesitant to remove them even to untie Cas.

"Cas, listen to me. I'm going to hack the chains off, but I'm not going to hurt you."

He wished Sam would shut up and free him, but he was also touched by Sam's concern and unwillingness to leave him.

"I don't want to move you too quickly, or do anything that will startle you, OK?"

Sam picked up one of Dean's weapons.

"It's going to be loud, OK?"

Does he expect me to answer? Cas thought dully. Maybe it was more wishful thinking than actual expectation. Although Cas had been broken like this a few times in the past, neither Winchester had seen it. So Cas being too weak to speak must be surprising. Shocking.

Disappointing.

Castiel immediately dashed the last one from his mind. What Dean said wasn't true. Sam Winchester was a good man, who saw someone's value when they couldn't see it themselves. No, Sam Winchester was a good man who didn't look at people as valuable or not. He just saw them as worthy.

Even Cas.

The vibrations of the sword against the chains shook Cas, and Sam dispensed shaky apologies as he tried to hack Cas free. Cas wished he had the strength to tell Sam it was OK, he didn't have to apologize, Cas was grateful that Sam was even trying. Eventually, Cas felt one hand go free and then the other. He felt himself falling, but he felt two strong arms around him before he could land. Two strong arms guiding him gently down, laying him comfortable across Sam's lap.

Sam was looking at Cas with such concern. Pity, maybe, for which Cas usually wouldn't be grateful, but now, he would welcome Sam and any emotion he brought with him, even anger at Dean. Dean didn't deserve it, he wanted to say. That isn't Dean. You shouldn't have kicked Dean...

But all Cas could do was smile up at his friend. Anything to alleviate his worry. After all, seeing what Dean's became must be hard on Sam.

"I don't want to move you too quickly. I have to check you over for the extent of your injuries," Sam's hand fully cupped Castiel's cheek.

Cas was fine with that. He could lay in Sam's arms for a while. In fact, Cas wanted Sam to hold off on checking for injuries if it meant his hand would stay on his cheek, and his body could stay in Sam's lap. But that was silly and sentimental, and Cas didn't have the strength to ask for it.

Sam's fingers ran gently across his body. Dean haphazardly fixed his broken bones along the way, tended his wounds so that he could create new ones without killing his victim, but even with that, Castiel was in bad shape. He wondered what Sam was thinking as he looked at Cas's countless wounds. At least Sam would be non-judgmental, as non-judgmental as anyone could be. Even Sam's pity wasn't condescending pity, but sadness and concern.

"Oh, Cas."

Cas could die comfortably right now, right here in Sam's arms. He would probably let go, let himself fall asleep and drift away in what would be the most peaceful death he ever had, if he could stop thinking about how disappointed Sam would be if he did. Sam tried hard to save him, so Cas would not give up.

Sam's arms tightened around Cas. Something was making Sam tense up, and with every ounce of strength Cas had in him, he opened his eyes. Just slits.

Dean was crawling towards them.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Dean thought upon regaining consciousness was Dean Winchester is saved.

It was an absurd thought and he didn't know why it came immediately to mind. For a moment, he thought he was just pulled out of Hell. That would explain the disoriented thought, the sick, dark feeling consuming him, the feeling of blood on his hands.

The first thing he saw was the pale expanse of his arm.

Dean Winchester is saved.

The Mark was gone.

And with the memory of the Mark, everything else came back to him. He saw past his arm, right to Sam hunched over Castiel.

Cas. No. No, no...

Dean began crawling over to them. Like a snake. He didn't deserve to stand, whether or not he actually could.

Sam looked up, responding to Dean with a look of shock and horror. Dean could tell he wanted to take Cas and bolt, but moving Cas might hurt him. Instead, Sam settled for moving Cas closer, wrapping his arms protectively around him.

Dean wanted to say that he won't hurt Cas anymore, but that would be ridiculous. Sam wouldn't believe him. Sam shouldn't believe him, even though it was true. How could either of them trust Dean?

Looking at Sam would break him, and he had to focus on Cas. He had to face what he did. He could never, ever let himself forget...

"Don't touch him!" Sam said, when he regained his voice and Dean was near, close enough to touch Cas. Dean could make out the details of what he did to his friend. Angry marks discoloring his body. Red, purple, black and blue. His skin would be paper-white, if it weren't littered with scars and bruises.

But Cas was conscious.

"It's OK, Sam," Cas rasped. Dean was surprised Cas had the strength to speak. Dean was surprised by his gentleness.

Dean clutched Cas's feet, repeating his name over and over. He was desperate, begging-begging for what, Dean didn't know. But he flinched when he felt Cas's cold, bony hand on his own.

"It wasn't your fault, Dean," Castiel rasped. He wrapped his hand around Dean's, squeezing gently, and Dean gasped with a sob. He needed to cling to Cas, to grovel at his feet. His forgiveness made this need even stronger. He let Cas go too many times, or kept him around to use him. He never showed Cas how much he needed him.

Cas's grip loosened, and his entire body went limp in Sam's arms.

"No! No!" Dean shouted over and over again. He desperately grabbed at Cas, trying to feel any sign of life, but Cas was still and bloody.

He killed Cas. Cas literally used his last dying breath to ease Dean's conscience, and then died. The Mark of Cain was gone, but it was too late to matter, because Cas-

"He's breathing." It took Sam a couple of times to get through to Dean, mostly because Sam couldn't-wouldn't- touch him, with his arms full of Cas and the blood on Dean's hands. "Dean, he's not dead. We're getting him back to the bunker, OK?"

Sam was talking to him, which was more than Dean expected, but his voice was cold. He wasn't extending any comfort to Dean-he just wanted him to calm down so that they could go.

Which, again, surprised Dean: he was invited back to the bunker.

"I have things to patch him up," Dean said, he mere act of forming a sentence bringing him back to reality. He didn't want to explain. With a sudden burst of strength and steadiness, Dean leapt to his feet and ran out of the room to get his supplies. He had a small, dark storage room where he kept his tools. There were too many sharp metal things on the shelves. He knocked them all over, swiping them off the shelf with his arm and trying to ignore them. He could ruminate later, when Cas was patched up.

"I got it," Sam said, coldly. Dean plus sharp things plus Cas's exposed flesh...Dean couldn't blame him for not wanting to mix those things together.

Sam set Castiel down, removing his shirt and bundling it under Cas's head. First, he cleaned Cas's fresh cuts with alcohol swabs. The head wounds were bleeding heavily at one point, but the blood flow was slowing down. Dean heard the crack of his sword against Castiel's head and cringed. Sam didn't notice, or if he did, did not react. Then, he cleaned up the long, shallow cut extending all the way down Cas's body. Dean couldn't help but notice Sam's hands were trembling.

Next, he reached for Dean's needle and thread. Now his hands were steady, his work efficient. When the stitches were done, Sam patted Cas down once more for broken bones. Dean could tell him nothing more had to be done right now. Healing would take a while, but it could be done at the bunker now.

"We should bring him home."

Sam gave no indication that he heard Dean, other than gathering Cas in his arms again.

They would carry him to the Impala, drive to the bunker, figure the rest out later. It was routine. He could do this. He took a deep breath and reached for Cas's legs.

"Don't touch him!" Sam snapped. "I got him."

Despite the emotional toll the day took on him, Sam was, by far, in the better position to carry Cas, although neither of them should have done heavy lifting. Dean opened the door to the Impala and Sam, still silent, put him in, again using his bundled shirt as a pillow. He went into the trunk for blankets. Once Castiel was bundled up and, as far as they could tell, comfortable, Sam said, "I'm driving."

Dean looked at Cas in the back seat. Sam wouldn't let Dean anyone near him, which meant he would be alone. He seemed pretty well conked out, but what if he had a nightmare? What if he woke up and didn't know where he was?

Well, Dean thought, you should have thought of that before you tortured him.

Dean wasn't in a position to argue. If Sam asked him to do the Charleston naked on hot coals, he would do it. He handed Sam the keys.

The ride was quiet. Dean must have been running on pure adrenaline earlier, because now, he was starting to feel a bone-weary exhaustion, as well as Sam's well-placed and well-deserved kicks. He would fall asleep instantly, but he didn't deserve rest. Not when Sam had to free Cas, stitch him up, carry him to the car, and drive the rest of the way back to the bunker. Not when Cas was stuffed in the back seat, sleeping off a month of torture, unaware of the long road ahead of him.

Sam and Dean had tension like this before. They had betrayed each other, lied to each other, hurt each other. But this was different. Dean didn't want to think about anything right now. Against his guilt, he fell asleep.

"Wake up."

Dean awoke to Sam's stiff business-like command. He jolted awake, the memories-of, at this point, probably the previous night-with him instantly. He looked at the back seat and noticed Cas was gone.

"Where is he? He's gone! Where is he?"

"He's in the bunker. I put him in a spare room."

The pounding in Dean's chest quieted. Cas was resting, not kidnapped or buried. Either Sam had let Dean sleep because of his exhaustion, or he took care of Cas and put Dean completely out of his mind until everything else was taken care of. Dean's money was on the latter.

Sam was already inside by the time Dean stepped out of the car. He was cleaning a few things off the counter, bandages and gauze. Post-first aid things that weren't urgent, but could be administered now that Cas was safe in the well-stocked bunker.

"I don't want to talk about this." It took Dean a moment to realize Sam was talking to him, since Sam was still focused on the counter. "Cas forgives you, so I'm not really in a position to hold it against you. And I think it will be easier for him if we get along," Sam said, "but it's going to be hard for me to look at you for a while."

Dean nodded. That was more than he could ask for.

"Besides, you understand what it's like to hold a grudge for these kinds of things."

Again, Dean nodded, ready to take whatever slights Sam had to give him.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam finished cleaning and headed to his room. He was exhausted, and he wouldn't waste any time talking to Dean. He wouldn't tell Dean how Cas was, wouldn't offer to let him see Cas, wouldn't ask how he was doing. Sam was in the tricky position of wanting Dean to be dead to him, but also wanting to respect Cas's choice of forgiving him.

Cas forgave Dean, but then, he always would. For Sam, separating the evil force that did this to Cas from Dean Winchester was more difficult. Maybe it was lingering bitterness, even now, about how Dean treated Sam during his demon blood addiction, and how he treated Cas whenever Cas faltered. And how none of this would have happened if Dean has just left Sam alone.

The dim lighting of the warehouse where Dean kept Cas, Sam hoped that some of the bruises he saw on Cas were just a trick of the lighting. As far as injuries went, Cas's were pretty basic. Whip lashes, scars, but no broken bones. But those bruises...

Dean must have went for psychological torture. Maybe his forgiveness was Stockholm syndrome. Sam didn't want to think about it. He was exhausted. He forced himself to stay up right long enough to clean himself up, but he couldn't even get undressed and under the covers before he fell asleep.

The first thing Sam did after opening his eyes was to stumble half-asleep down to the kitchen for a cup of ice chips. Cas's lips had always been so chapped, but now they were cracked and bloody. He doubted Cas was properly hydrated, not that he would ask Dean.

When Sam walked into Cas's room, Cas's eyes were fluttering, but remained closed. Sunlight was streaming across his face, and he looked irritated by it in his sleep. The room Dean had kept in is was dark, after all. Sam sat on the side of the bed.

"Hey, Cas. It's Sam. You're in the bunker." He resisted the urge to touch Cas. Just put his hand on the top of his head. Or touch his check. But he wasn't able to give permission or defend himself, so it was best to just talk to him.

Cas struggled to open his mouth, but his lips were dry and his brow furrowed at the unpleasantness. Sam would have smiled-Cas's first experience with morning mouth, probably. But the circumstances weren't cute.

"I'm going to give you some ice chips, OK?

Sam put the spoon to Cas's lips and even weak and tired, Cas went for them greedily.

"Slow down, slow down," Sam said, brushing hair away from Cas's forehead, forgetting his rule of no touching. He immediately withdrew his hand. Cas didn't seem to react negatively to the touch, but Sam didn't want to risk it. "Just let them melt in your mouth. It'll make your mouth feel better, but if you start off with too much, you might get sick."

Cas sank further into the pillow. Sam closed the shades and waited for Cas's breathing to even out again-which happened almost instantly-before leaving.

He almost ran right into Dean in the hallway. Dean was pale, and Sam doubted he slept at all. In just one night, Dean went from bulked-up, all-powerful creature of destruction to a corpse-like whisp of himself.

Sam was not moved. Dean could very well have been a whisp, for all Sam talked to him. He marched right past Dean, careful not to even brush up against him.

"Sam, wait," but Sam didn't stop. "Can I see Cas?" Dean asked, uncharacteristically timid, just loud enough for Dean to hear. He was asking permission, to show penance and deference to Sam. Sam wasn't buying it. He didn't have the heart to give Dean permission, even under supervision, but he also felt it would be cruel-to Cas-to deny Dean outright.

So Sam chose a third option.

"Why would you want to?" His words came with such venom that it was more effective than denying Dean outright. Sam remembered Cas clutching Dean's hand, granting him absolution, and how Dean threw himself at Cas's feet, sobbing-loud, open sobbing like Sam never heard from him before-Dean's panic when he thought Cas's limpness meant death.

Still, Sam couldn't muster any sympathy for his brother. He moved onward to grab a book and a chair from his room. He spent the rest of the day at Cas's bedside, cleaning bandages and feeding him ice chips, narrating his every move.

"Cas, I'm going to change the bandages on your legs, OK?"

"I just have to go get more gauze. I'll be back in a second."

"I have to roll you over on your side, but I'm not going to hurt you."

For all Sam's concerned chatter, Cas was unresponsive one way or the other. He just slept, which was understandable, and let Sam take care of him. Sam wasn't sure if it was resignation or trust, but he didn't want to assume either way. He was careful and talked through everything he did. In the downtime, he sat next to Cas and read.

He wasn't sure what Dean was doing. He didn't care.

Days passed. Only two, but still, Dean was unbearably lonely. Sam wouldn't look at him, and Dean couldn't do anything but remember what he did to Cas and hate himself. He couldn't even bring himself to drink. Old fuck-up Dean would have drowned himself in booze. Probably literally drown himself, too.

Cas had been small and weak, human, and still so, so trusting of Dean. Dean knew he would be a consistent outlet for his bloodlust, so he grabbed the unsuspecting Cas, wrapped his hands around Cas's neck. Cas struggled just a little, but he was no match for Dean's strength. Dean hefted Cas into his arms as easily as he would a child, a satisfied smile on his face as he looked down at his prey. Cas would let Dean do anything to him, and even if he resisted, he wouldn't have much of a choice.

He tied up Cas and shoved him in the trunk, barely able to contain his glee. Cas had fallen so far and Dean...well, Dean was there to pick him up.

Dean shuddered at the memory. Sam didn't even know about that part. He didn't know anything, other than what he saw when he burst in to Dean's hideaway. But then, he didn't need to know much more than that.

Dean ran to the toilet and heaved, not having much to throw up. He spent the previous night crying until he couldn't produce any more tears. If he slept, it was a shallow, uncomfortable sleep plagued by nightmares.

He didn't feel the Mark anymore, that was obvious. He didn't know what brought him back, if Sam's beat down had knocked it out of him, but that didn't make sense.

He needed to see Cas. He would never hurt him, never again. Cas forgave him which meant he would be OK with seeing him, right? But Sam was guarding him like that three-headed dog at the gates of hell, and Dean deserved nothing more than sheer hatred.

But then, Cas had taken his hand with the little strength he had. And he said "It wasn't your fault." Dean needed to know he was alright. Cas could be dead-

Dean felt dizzy. Cas could be dead, and Sam could be keeping it a secret.

Self-hatred be damned. He dragged himself to Sam's room, leaning against the wall and crawling his way to the door. He practically fell down on the door knob to open it. Sam wasn't in his room.

He must be in Cas's.

So Dean dragged himself the rest of the way to Cas's room, where, luckily, the door was slightly ajar. He pushed the door open and fell to his knees outside.

"I need to see Cas. Please let me see him."

"Jesus Christ! Dean!" Sam said.

Sam darted to Dean, grabbing his shoulders. I must look really bad, Dean realized, worse than this morning.

"Is he dead? Did I kill him?"

"No. He's resting."

"Can I see him?"

Sam sighed. "Not when you're like this. Have you had anything to drink?"

"I'm sober."

"No. I mean water. Shit, Dean."

"Cas-"

"You can see him. Of course you can see him. But we need to get you cleaned up first."

Sam dragged Dean to the kitchen, practically dropping him at the table. He filled a cup of water and hastily heated up a can of soup. Starting small, like Cas would have to.

Dean stared at the food in front of him. He couldn't fathom eating.

"You have to. Cas can't see you looking like that, even for a second."

Dean nodded and drank his water and devoured his soup, drinking it straight from the bowl in one breath. Sam was worried that the liquid would come right back up again, but it didn't. In fact, Dean seemed refreshed.

"Can I see Cas now?"

"Wash your face first," Sam said, softly, just now registering the tear tracks on Dean's eyes with sympathy. Dean nodded obediently and went to the sink. Sam was ready with a towel for him when he was done.

"Dean, I'm sorry for the way I treated you. What happened to Cas...it wasn't you." Sam was just starting to believe that himself. "Let's go see Cas now."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're probably going to hate me for this! But I needed to do it. Thanks for reviews, and I appreciate your feedback!

Sam walked close to Dean as they approached Cas's room.

"Wait." Dean stopped outside.

"What's wrong?"

"How is he?"

Sam took a breath. "He's not great, but he's patched up. He's resting mostly."

"What if he doesn't want to see me?"

Sam can't remember a time where Cas didn't want to see Dean. There were plenty of moments were avoidance would have been understandable, moments where Sam would have high-tailed it away from Dean if he were in Cas's place. Cas might be snarky, his feelings might be hurt, but he would always came when Dean called.

"I'll be there."

"OK."

Sam pushed open the door. As he expected, Cas was resting, curled on his side, barely visible under blankets. Still, Dean's breath hitched.

"I did this to him."

"It wasn't you," Sam said, quickly. Dean gave no sign that he heard him, instead marching dead-eyed to Cas's bed. He stared, motionless, and Sam waited for something to happen. For Cas to stir or Dean to touch him. But nothing happened.

After a while, Dean got up and walked back to Sam.

"Alright," Dean said, nodding.

Sam was baffled. That was it? He opened the door and followed Dean out. It made sense, though. Starting out with too much would be as much as a shock to Dean as it would be to Cas.

"I'm gonna take a walk. Clear my head."

Sam hesitated, because Dean was already looking better-the fact that he would even want to go for a walk was a good sign-but he still didn't look healthy. Sam missed his anger and apathy towards Dean, because now, they were replaced with worry.

Dean sensed Sam's hesitation.

"I'll be fine. I'm just gonna go around the block, get some fresh air."

"Alright," Sam conceded. After twenty minutes, if Dean wasn't back, Sam would go out and look for him.

But Dean returned in twenty minutes, which Sam spent reading by Castiel's bedside. He heard the front door open, Dean's footsteps down the hall, and then the creak of Dean's bedroom door.

In retrospect, the big meal should have been a tip-off that something was off.

It was five days since Sam decided to talk to Dean, so a little over a week since Cas was brought back to the bunker. He was conscious more often now, but never for long, and never exactly lucid. Dean was never around for these moments, but he prepared soup for Sam to give to Cas. He never told Sam when he was going to. Sam would just walk into the kitchen and find a bowl of tomato-and-rice, or chicken broth, something light for Cas to eat.

Sam was concerned about Cas's progress. All things considered, it was pretty slow. He was improving, obviously, but still exhausted most of the time. He hoped that it was because Cas Fell. That, at least, would explain it. It wasn't something he would bring up to Dean, still a sore subject for him.

Dean looked like himself again. He was more silent, but he cooked for Sam and Dean. Usually simple things, nothing elaborate, but at least Dean was doing something. And he wasn't drinking, or at least, Sam didn't see him drink. Things were, sickly, better than they had been in a while.

Which is why Dean's three-course meal should have been a tip-off of something. Sam should have been cautious about sitting down to a roast, asparagus, mashed potatoes.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I've been thinking about it. I, uh, think I should head out for a while."

"Head out? Like to the store?"

"No. Just around. Like a road trip."

Sam put his fork down. It was bribery food. "By yourself?"

"Yeah."

Sam picked at his food, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Is there any particular reason?"

"I think some time apart would be good for us."

Sam wondered if Dean realized how similar to a break up that sounded, but he didn't say anything.

"And what about Cas?" The question came out much more sharply than he intended.

"You're so good with him, Sammy. You're better than I've ever been with him."

"But he wants you. You're just going to abandon him while he's healing? Damn it, Dean!"

"I wrote him a letter."

"A letter," Sam repeated. "You're not even going to tell him in person? You were always on his case about not being around, but it's OK for you to just leave him when he needs you the most?"

"I think we all need some time away from each other. I think Cas needs time away from me, too, whether he realizes it or not. Some time where he's not either fighting a war or hanging around me like a devoted puppy. He needs to learn from someone who's not me."

That was a point Sam couldn't argue with.

"And being around me, after what I did-"

"It wasn't you," Sam said. If he said it enough times, maybe he and Dean would believe it fully.

"After what happened, then," Dean amended, "after what happened, even if I was possessed, I don't know. I don't think the healthiest option would be for Cas to heal with me around. It might remind him or something."

At least Dean's decisions weren't based on self-loathing. It seemed that he thought about what was best for Cas, not just exiling himself as punishment. It sounded like-dare Sam say it?-a mature, thought-out decision. He would leave on good terms (well, the best terms possible, given the circumstances), both with Sam and Cas, and return, eventually, when he sorted things out.

"Will you be OK?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'll take care of myself. It's only for a little while."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tonight? I packed my back, I wrote the note."

Sam closed his eyes, wondering how long Dean thought about this.

"You'll call me, right?"

Dean smiled. "Yeah."


End file.
